Drabbles
by Internet-Close
Summary: A collection of short stories.


**AU: Dinner**

Michael Townley slogged up his house driveway, dragging his feet through the dark grey snow slush that covered the roads and sidewalks of North Yankton. The sky was cold, dark, and bitter, his blue letterman jacket zipped all the way up. Michael swung his backpack over his other shoulder, jogging up the stone steps. Opening the wooden arched door, his nose met the delicious smell of baking turkey.

"Mom, I'm home." Michael dropped his bag to the side, kicking off his boots. "Oh, hi sweetie! How was practice?" Mrs. Townley asked from the kitchen.

"Good. Where's Jimmy?" Michael walked into the brightly lit kitchen.

"Upstairs. I put him down for a nap an hour ago." Mrs. De Santa wiped her greasy hands on her flower apron, the grease smearing across the pretty little pink daisies and roses.

Michael nodded, bending down and looking in the oven. The window was foggy from the steam, but he could still get a good view. The turkey was as big as one you would find on Thanksgiving, and just as delicious looking. The sizzling skin was a deep dark brown, covered in an awry of spices. His mom was always a great cook. She probably was one of the few reasons he decided to stay at his parents house after Jimmy was born.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Why don't you go check on Jimmy and get him ready for dinner? Your father will be home soon."

Michael held in a groan. "Sure, alright." Ever since Jimmy was born, Michael's father had been an asshole to both Michael and his son. Well, he was always an asshole to Michael, but ever since he became a teenage dad it just gave him more of a reason to go out of his way to piss him off.

He loped up the carpet-covered steps, opening the baby gate at the top. Walking up to his bedroom door, he pushed it opened slowly, trying to not make it creak. The room was almost completely dark, saved for the tiny amount light coming from the hallway. On his bed was a lump under the covers. Michael crouched down, lifting up the dark blue covers off the lump. A little red-headed two-year old boy blinked his groggy eyes, letting out a yawn.

"Hey, little man." Michael whispered, giving a small smile. Jimmy rubbed his eyes of sleepiness, reaching out a hand towards his father. "Dada . . ."

"Yeah, it's me." Michael accepted his hand, giving a little squeeze. "Come on, Gram's got dinner downstairs." He lifted Jimmy up, tucking his arm under his butt. Jimmy stretched up, laying his head on Michael's shoulder. "Why aren't you in your PJ's?" Michael asked, taking careful steps down the steps. Jimmy was still dressed in his regular day clothes; a blue t-shirt and brown jeans

"'Cause I'm a big boy. I wanna wear my undies like you, but Gram wouldn't let me."

Michael raised his eyebrows, giving a sideways glance to Jimmy. "What you talking about, I don't wear my underwear to bed. I wear my PJ bottoms." Jimmy shook his head. "Nuhuh. When Mama sleeps over you wear undies." Shit, Michael thought. He thought the kid was sleeping by that time.

"Well, let's just not tell Gram and Big Pops that, alright? Or else Mama won't be able to visit anymore." Jimmy nodded in agreement. Michael strolled into the kitchen, his father at the head of the dining room table, reading the newspaper. His mother was cutting up the turkey, placing each piece onto different plates.

"Gram-Gram!" Jimmy yelled, reaching his arm out to her. She turned around to the sound of his voice, giving a smile only a proud grandma could give.

"Sweetie, are you ready for supper?" She asked, giving a pinch to his freckled cheek. Michael could hear his father grumble in the background.

Jimmy pulled away from her pinch, nodding. "I guess he is! Come over, I got your dish all ready for you." Michael smiled at his mother. When she first learned Amanda was pregnant, she was a bit disappointed in Michael. Over time, though, she got more and more excited of the fact that she was going to become a grandma. His father, however, was a completely different story.

Michael dragged over Jimmy's high chair from the corner of the dining room, the scratching of the wooden floor caused Michael's father to tighten his grip on the newspaper.

"Why don't you put the high chair near Big Pops," His mother yelled from the kitchen, "I'm sure Big Pops would love to visit his grandson!" Michael tried to detect sarcasm in her voice, but couldn't find one shred of it. Michael sighed, being not someone who would upset their mother, pulled the high chair over to his father. His dad did not look happy. Gently placing Jimmy in his chair, he mentally apologized to his son over and over.

Michael pulled a wooden chair up, sitting next to Jimmy. "So, uh, Dad, how was work?" He asked, bring a spoonful of peas to his mouth.

"Fine," Mr. Townley grumbled, "Practice?"

"Uh, good." Michael responded. They sat in awkward silence, the only noises were coming from Jimmy's babble and Mrs. Townley's heels clicking across the floor.

She strutted in, placing two plates, one in front of Michael and one in front of her husband. She went back into the kitchen and brought out a small plastic plate with cut-up turkey and peas on the side. Mrs. Townley handed it to Michael, who placed it on Jimmy's plastic table. "Here yeah go, Jim." Michael said. Jimmy squealed, grabbing a fist full of peas and shoving it into his mouth.

"Jesus Christ, Michael, teach that kid how to use a goddamn knife and fork!" Mr. Townley put down his newspaper, cutting into his large piece of turkey roughly.

Michael bite his tough, forcing himself not to lash out at his father. He was a big man, after all. Easily towering over Michael, who was already pretty tall.

"Uh, yeah, Dad." Michael picked up Jimmy's plastic fork, placing it in Jimmy's hands before he could grab another fist of food. Jimmy looked over at Michael in confusion. Michael showed him how to push his utensil into the piece of chicken, bringing it up to his mouth. Hesitatingly, Jimmy ate the piece of food off his fork.

"See, it's easy!" Michael ruffled his son's hair. Jimmy looked back down at the fork, dropping it on the floor.

"Fuck, this kid is making a mess. Sheila!" Mr. Townley yelled, his wife coming back in and picking the fork off the floor. "No swearing in front of the baby!" She barked at him. His mom was the only person Michael knew that could yell back at his father and still live.

"Let him eat with his hands, he's just a baby. Jimmy will learn soon."

Mr. Townley quickly looked away from his wife, back down to his food. "Yes, dear." Michael held in a chuckle.

The Townley's continued eating. The peacefulness officially broken when Jimmy pushed his plate of smashed mush over, falling right into the lap of his grandfather.

"Fuckin' little shit!" Mr. Towley stood right up, the plate smashing on the floor. Jimmy jerked back in his seat, the booming voice of his grandfather scaring him. "Calm down, Henry!" Mrs. De Santa grabbed his forearm, before being roughly pushed away by her husband. "Go in the kitchen." He said slowly. She stared at him, glancing at Michael for a split second before leaving the kitchen.

Mr. Townley pointed his wrinkly finger at Jimmy, "This little bastard needs to be taught a lesson!" He snarled. Michael shot straight up, grabbing his father's arm. "Don't you fucking touch him!" He yelled. Jimmy looked from his grandfather to his father, a few droplets of tears falling down his face.

Mr. Townley's ripped his arm out of Michael's grasp, taking a few deep breaths. He straightened up, putting his face right into Michael's. "You're just a fuckin' kid who knocked up some whore. You're not a parent. I'm the parent, so I'll do what I want to your fuckin' bastard."

Michael reached his peak. He had heard enough. He swung his fist, colliding straight into his dad's nose. Mr. Townley stumbled back, holding his nose. Blood spewed out from between his fingers, dripping down his white button-up. Michael looked down at his father, watching him crumbled to the floor. Michael did that. Michael fuckin' Townley just took down his father in one punch. All the years of being told that he was a small bitch, he could never be strong, he did this.

The screaming of Jimmy snapped Michael out of it, he rushed over to comfort his child. Picking him out of the chair, he felt Jimmy bury his head into his neck, the snot and tears running down his shirt.

"Shh, Jimmy," He rubbed his back slowly, "It's okay. We're getting out of here." Mrs. Townley came rushing in, crying as she saw her husband laid out on the floor, cradling his nose.

"Oh my God, what happened?!" She brought Mr. Townley's head into her lap, removing his hands to see the damage.

"That ungrateful, shitty kid punched me out." He muttered, tears prickling from his eyes as his wife touched the arch of his nose.

"He threatened-" Michael started, being cut off by his mother. "Just please, Michael, leave." She muttered, "I can't take this anymore, Michael. Take Jimmy and leave."

Michael stood there shocked, staring down at his mother. "A- a- Fine. Fuckin' fine." He shifted Jimmy into his other arm, walking past his father and mother. He sprinted upstairs, kicking open his door. Setting Jimmy down on his bed, he bent down, rummaging under his bed. Pulling out a beaten up suitcase, he dropped it on the bed. Looking over at Jimmy, his stomach dropped. Jimmy was shaking, tears and snot were running down his face. "Is- is Big Pops going to be okay?" He asked.

"Shit," Michael whispered. Getting onto Jimmy's eye level, he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Big Pops is going to be a-okay, alright? Don't need to worry or anything, we're just going on, uh, a vacation!"

"A vacation? To where?"

Michael threw clothes into the bag, hoping that some of Jimmy's clothes were in the pile. "To, uh, well, Daddy will figure that out, 'kay?"

Jimmy nodded. Michael gave a reassuring smile, picking up Jimmy and slinging the bag over his other shoulder. Going downstairs, he noticed his father had moved from the floor, now sitting in a chair. In his hands he clenched a bloody rag, holding it to his face while Mrs. Townley was on the phone.

Michael looked away, stepping into his boots. "Let's go, Jim." He walked out the door, into the winter night.


End file.
